


I didn’t sign up for this

by MooseintheRain



Series: PSNJM [1]
Category: French Revolution RPF, Hamlet - Shakespeare, Historical RPF, Othello - Shakespeare
Genre: Multi, OOC Alert, PEACE AND LOVE, PSNJM, alternative endings, every pun is intended, fake Quebecer trying to depict true French guys and failing miserably, full of dirty jokes, full of geeky references, full of grammar mistakes, joking about serious stuff, no offense to anyone or anything, please don’t take anything serious, swearing alert, talk about coincidences, this is shitty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseintheRain/pseuds/MooseintheRain
Summary: A story of confrontation between the dirtiest girl of her grade and some 18th century gentlemen revolutionnaires. Clash of cultures and of different ideologies, aka Story Of My Sec 4 Life by "Alfred F. Jones", How I End Up Crying For People I Barely Know or even Adventures Of Some French Gay In An All Girls School.Since this is a modern AU, the characters AREN'T their original counterpart that everyone knows from their history textbook.A mix of OCs, historical figures and characters of William Shakespeare aka Billy Shaxpard. This man had around 80 ways to write his name.





	1. Students nowadays are fearless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [billspilledquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billspilledquill/gifts).



> The story is set in Quebec (Canada), which means French alert and French swearing alert.
> 
> Secondary school : in the educational system of Quebec, it’s a combination of middle school and high school without 12th grade, so sec 1=7th grade, sec 2=8th grade, sec 3=9th grade, sec 4=10th grade and sec 5=11th grade.
> 
> Any resemblance between fictive place names, school names, etc and names in reality are purely coincidental. (Inside jokes intended) Be ready to relate?
> 
> Rated no archive warnings apply since the dirty jokes aren’t really obvious, there will be no direct description of violence nor smut, so it’s pretty safe to keep it to general audiences. An extra challenge for people with keen eyes : try to spot all the puns and explain them, the answers will at the end of the fic when finished. 
> 
> Jones jokes around a lot and even about things that aren’t funny at all, but that’s how the character is, she doesn’t mean anything offensive, alert to sensitive souls. The author doesn’t think what Jones thinks.
> 
> A lot of grammar mistakes since the author doesn’t have English as the first language.

I was in sec 4 when our school opened up for boys. Eff. The Pensionnat des Saints-Noms-de-Jésus-et-de-Marie was known for being THE girl school in the top 5 of the list of best secondary schools in Quebec, ok? I mean, weren’t you the ones, dear teachers and mister Little, who brag about being proud of remaining a girl-only school while Brébeef, THE boy school, just accepted girls last year? Seriously, someone need to set a filter to their speech and stop planting flags everywhere. It’s just like saying “Ima go home and marry her when the war would be over”. When you say that, you're 1000% sure to never come back. The flag is so big that our proud, the national red maple leaf, is feeling left out, dear mister Little.

So what? Accepting boys means we can’t just change in the corridor anymore. No more using the men's bathroom when the women ones are full of people. No more dirty jokes, no more references to the baseball and its bat, no more tapping butts or flirting with your desk mate in math class while she’s trying to concentrate on what the teacher is saying (apparently, maths in PSNJM is taught in Latin since no one understands anything) just to annoy her. Uuuuuuuuuugh. School isn’t fun with males. Can we just lock them all up in a special area of the school and punish them for trespassing like what Vincent-d'Indy does to us? What? Is that a no that I heard? I'm Alfred F. Jones and I don’t accept disagreement, ok? 

No, the F. doesn’t stand for fucking, thanks for asking. So... alright alright I'll stop it, Cathy, good Cathy, stop glaring at me like you want to cut me open with your scalpel. I don’t want to be that pigeon we dissected and posed, like the rules demand, as Jesus.

These little devils are killing me.

Before you start thinking I’m sexist or gay, I want to clarify something : I’m as straight as your average baseball bat and no, I do not discriminate boys, I simply don’t like being with them 24/7. Or almost. 8 hours per day is a lot ok? As Mr. Egghead, our ex-history teacher said last year, if you lock up our entire class in this classroom and force us to live together, you'll find that half of the class died of homicide in less than one week. We don’t hate each other but we hate coping (hahahahahaha I know u got that darling-wait Cathy don’t go-oh well, guess I’ll be single 4ever) with each other. No, allow me to rephrase that. We don’t hate each other, but we just do. Imagine how it would be a whole lot worse with boys involved.

So, that’s what I had in mind when I went back to school on August 28th 20... no Cathy I’m not putting the year; I’m not that old, thank you!

Anyways, back to the boys... NO EMY I'M NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT BASEBALL BATS! I'M NOT THAT SHAMELESS! And pl3as3 stop pasting dirty jok3s from t7mblr, it’s making my Googol Docs b7g jdoa#”:md@#)$#ntfe(3sxf+/$lqld)’eke737

U guys will delete these parts afterwards right? I’m not posting a serious PSNJM stuff with lemons appearing out of nowhere with my account. I swear to Ham - hey don’t laugh this is serious - the last thing I’ll do is to post lemons, next to writing slice of life.

Seriously, will you stop making that face? Desmoulins is laughing his ass off. No he’s not looking at you, yes your hair is messy and you have grown fa... oush that hurts! And great, now the surveillant is eyeing me.

I was totally against the very idea of boys breathing under the same roof as us - perfectly straight teen girls. (We're straight. Right, guys? ... Guys? Cathy? Emy?... Oh hi Mona I thought u were studying! No I swear to Ham I’m not stealing ur wife! Nor am i trying to make her straiggggggggggggggkjrrtuibtffvnhbmhigf

Great. Now my face is marked with squares. What did we say about “#no place for violence” ?! Keyboards aren’t exactly comfortable, mate!

Then I changed my thought when I met him. I fell in love with him when I first saw him, it was so intense, just like a thunder shock. It is magical between us, he is as hot as a midsummer day and as fresh as a morning breeze. I shall always love my dear, dear Hamy Hamilton. (Cathy y u staring at me?)

...

Ha! I had you didn’t I! You thought this was a love story didn’t you! Ima warn you right away that this is NOT a love story - WAIT CATHY PLEASE COME BACK SWEET PEA I DON'T MEAN IT THAT WAY - at least not about me. 

Back to PSNJM welcoming boys. We always joke around about how Brébeef doesn’t have enough room for them so they aren’t admis since, you know, they need extra classrooms for specific needs at all times. So secretly, they were, well, morons to our eyes. But reality proved us wrong as hell. Cathy had always been the top student of our class, the A+ girl, the teacher's favorite, the one you ask when you don’t know the answer, the one you kick on the chair when you're in the middle of an exam and have no idea what’s written on the paper even though it’s clearly printed in French. The méritas girl, to sum it all. Then came Maximilien Robespierre. 

On the first day of school, the math teacher had the guts to give us a surprise, a quiz. It doesn’t count, he said, it’s only a way to evaluate our knowledge and to wake our brains up from hibernation. No, summernation. (You got it Cathy? Hiber, hiver? No? It wasn’t funny? ... oh) SO BASICALLY IT WAS HIS WAY TO SEPARATE THE STUPID STUDENTS FROM THE SMART ONES FOR HIM SO HE COULD EXERCISE FAVOURITISM FROM THE VERY FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. So he passed down the test and I’m all confident cuz I have great memory, I’m saying this shamelessly because I actually remember all the bones' names from last year, all the eye's parts and their jobs and, yes, all the organs. I can point them out on one's body without cutting that person open for some visualisation. I bet I could re-do the science exam, the history one and the Spanish one without studying or reviewing the whole thing all summer and still have 70 and plus. So I turned the copy over when he said start and, OH MY (censured) HAMY, WHAT THE (censured) IS SINUS WHAT THE (censured) IS ANALYSE DE PARABOLE WHAT IS FONCTION PARTIE ENTIÈRE AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW HOW TO DIVIDE A BINÔME PAR ANOTHER BINÔME AND NO I DONT KNOW HOW LARGE IS THE RIVER ACCORDING TO ISOSHDHDMEIFHNFKR!!! My hands were shaking when I read the questions one by one, starting to panic and redoubt my life. Do I need fixing or something? And good Ham there’s actually a bonus question! As if anyone could get that bonus 10 points! Or 10 points in total at all!

I was sure as hell ima pass a terrible year with this teacher when I handed him the copy. That bastard Popes... I looked at Cathy, expecting her to find it easy peasy as always, but her lips folded coldly into a thin line told me she didn’t want to talk about it. Then my eyes darted to the new students. Maximilien Robespierre and Camille Desmoulins. I had and still have no idea why parents nowadays name their children with names as ancient as the French Republic. And I thought we were going to have a new girl in the class! Talk about disappointment! I met Emilia's gaze halfway and we both smiled mockingly. In our eyes, at that time, it was a “haha b... submit yourself or die” not only for us, but mostly for the new boys. I was starting to pity them, really. Then I saw that Robespierre dude writing in an inhuman speed on his sheet, almost filling completely the page. His back was a bit hunched and his surprisingly pale brows knitted together in an inelegant wave of extreme seriousness. The tiny trace left behind by the sweat of a typical Montreal summer day shined under the sunlight and for an instance, the only instance in my life, I saw an attractive man full of potential inside the shell of an awkward, friendly yet distant, freckled, heavy French accent guy with hair as fluffy as any stuffed animal on an 8-year-old girl's bed. Admit it girls, guys are way sexier when they're concentrated on their work then when they're cuming on their workers. 

Then my so-called affection for the Robespierre dude vanished completely in the air along with his sweat when the teacher, surprised by his own surprise, declared out loud, in front of the whole class, that only two people passed. (In Hamy’s name we never learned these s... and people still pass the exam?!) Then he called out Maximilien Robespierre's name, congratulating him for getting the highest mark: 80. The room went dead silent. He went up, walked to the front, took his copy, thanked the teacher politely then got back to his seat. Nonchalantly. Indifferent to the stunned, shocked, stoned girls all around him. Camille Desmoulins broke the suffocating silence first, he barked out loud, laughing like he's spitting out his stomach and lungs. Then the class broke away from the curse and started applauding for the brave lad. His smile irritates me, still haunts me today, as if he wasn’t the one we cheered for, the center of our collective attention, the only person more concerned than anyone in this affair. I knew from that moment that I’ll hate that guy as long as we shall breath under the same roof.

Evidently, Catherine was 2nd with a 71. The rest of us failed miserably. This is the first time Cathy had a rival of her level, I can see from the sparkle in her eyes despite her expressionless face that she was beyond thrilled. But not Emilia, nor Desdemona, nor me.

It was one week after that we saw the true capacities of Maximilien Robespierre. Damn he was great I wanna bite him so bad. He excelled in French evenly with Françoise, in math and history with Cathy, in science with Desdemona, in arts with Emilia and even beat Cathy in ECR. Know that Cathy is a swift talker, reasons faster than anyone and basically has fun debating with the teacher each class. But bless Ham, that Robespierre was incredible I can’t even describe him in words. Which made me suspect him even more. No one, no normal teenager of 21st century, is capable of accomplishing what he had done (except Cathy). He may be smart, but I can see that he wasn’t here and had never really been here, with us. Apparently, he and his best friend, the Desmoulins dude, were popular among the girls of my class. Hormones, people, hormones. Although they both look gay as fuck. Desmoulins may seem more ok than Max, but there’s something wrong with him. With them. I just couldn’t tell why back then. Bless those girls! Only if they knew who they truly were!


	2. Couples nowadays are shameless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abréviations:
> 
> FRA stands for français, French  
> ANG for anglais, English  
> ESP for Español, Spanish  
> ÉPS for éducation physique et à la santé, physical education (PE)  
> ARP for arts plastiques, arts  
> ARD for arts dramatique, drama  
> MUS for musique, music  
> MAT for mathématiques, maths  
> SCT for sciences and technology  
> HIS for histoire, history  
> ÉCR for éthique et culture religieuse, ethic and religious culture
> 
> CPE is the Comité des projets d’élèves, a committee responsible for the organization of activities for students of their respective grade and there are 2 deputes per grade.
> 
> Suivis are warnings, with 3 suivis you get a retenu, a detention.

You know how it feels when it’s Valentine’s Day and you suddenly see random couples kissing everywhere? Like they weren’t even existent before 2/14, then they just pop out, out of nowhere, the night before and then start burning your eyes for the next whole week? That’s how I felt everyday at school back in sec 4.

I wanna burn these couples so bad I might as well buy a cape, make a pointy hat with paper and found the FFF group in real life. (Stop frowning at me Cathy, the FFF thing, it’s super trendy in China)

Oh right she’s Russian, not Chinese. 2 bad. And I thought she was my other half. Did you know that, according to the Bible or the Greek mythology or something like that, human used to have 2 heads, 4 arms, 4 legs and they were complete, were happy, were so happy that they feel superior and started acting bratty, which angered God. So He cut all these little brats in halves with his lightning (It must be Zeus, right? Right? Any of u guys Greek here?). So starting from that day, human only have one head 2 arms 2 legs, are incomplete and need to search for their other half in order to be full again. People say that it’s a lover's love thing. I say it’s a friend’s love thing. I mean, look at us, brats our age can’t possibly make their lover relationships last longer than months while their friendships shall last years and years. We’re best friends, right Cathy? Yeah, so she’s my other half. As your other half, I’m telling ya, FFF has nothing to do with KKK, stop giving me that look, yes I see you, you’re doing it again, FFF isn’t racist, it simply doesn’t welcome couples. (What? I missed smh important while typing? From Cathy? Daaaaaamn. Guys just tell me what is it plz? PLZ???... oh u'r not telling me rnt u, u little devils)

Before you get me wrong, feel so offended and track me down to kill me, I just want to clarify something. I’m totally fine with that excessively commercialized thing called St Val, seriously I actually enjoy it ok? It’s nothing, absolutely NADA, compared to what I saw, heard and experienced everyday back in PSNJM last year. Oh well, this year too, since nothing changed. I mean, things DID changed, but unfortunately for me, not this. 

It all started with the party welcoming us back to school organized by the CPE dudes of the last school year since the new members were about to cum. (Ouch! Mona! Wut was that for? Only Cathy hits me ok! 打是情罵是愛! Don’t u cheat on Emy with me! Ah! Watchu doing Cathy?! U 2?! Ah...haa...ah... no wait don’t u team up with Mona! I ain’t done nada wronnnnnnAAAAH STOP PINCHING THERE IT ISKDJJDJNFJDJ! No...um...ah...)

Seriously guys, the surveillant who has been eyeing me since p2 started writing something down on his paper. If I ever get a suivi for this, y’all shall pay. Is that clear? I’m saving my suivis for skipping ÉPS, not dérangement en classe.

Back to the fête de la rentrée. It was the same DJ, same music, same 1250 crazy girls in rolled up skirts grinding into each other, waving madly their hands up the the air and dancing around in the small parking lot like there’s no tomorrow. But with boys. Imagine boys AND girls fooling around like paralyzed rats or goats having a seizure. It was their last chance to get high without alcool nor drogue, only sugar, before school goes crazy and strangles us with its evil minions. I only went for the free ice cream people, I don’t do dance because I do Ham. Speaking of Hamy, he was missing that day. I bet he fell in the toilet and got stuck. (Hey don’t look at me like that, yes u, all of u, this happens, ok, I once saw... No, never mind, it’s nothing important, really) 

By the way, have you guys noticed that the lad from Denmark was starting a harem that day, right next to the the gym with all these girls slamming mercilessly their tits on his body? Can someone please stop that bratty playboy before our sweat, sweat Ophelia goes yandere and murders everyone in this school? I still have my Hamy to do before I die, ok? (Mona, why has Cathy's face turned black? And stop eyeing me with pity, Emy) 

So I skipped the picnic on the school yard, the rolling on the freshly cut lawn, taking selfies in front of our school's pretty main building and yes, dancing (spelled G-R-I-N-D-I-N-G and pronounced HUM-PING) with (just aaaaaaah why are we all straight in PSNJM) males, for some quality time inside the building where the temperature isn’t high enough to cook you alive. I went for my favorite spot as a good student who never studies at the last minute (lol no), the library. I walked down the corridor, feeling great like I ever did in PSNJM because all the boys are outside so the fresh, clean air is all mine while the 105-year-old wooden floors cracked under my feet with each step. Then it hit me hard like a train (or an orgas- ok ok I’ll stop). The library is closed. JUST WHYYYYYY WHERE AM I GONNA SPEND MY TIME WATCHING CUTE CROSSDRESSERS DANCE HUH??? AND ONLINE SHOPPING FOR DRESSES OR READING FANFICS OF BILLSPILLEDQUILL IF I HAVE NOWHERE TO GO??? I checked the clock, it was 12:39. I didn’t feel like waiting in the lockers watching bilibili nor hiding in the bathroom or changing room reading lemons. The surveillants will kill me. (Hey Cathy, u remember that time where Mary and I shared... yeah that one. Um... Cathy? Hello?...) So I climbed up the stairs, went straight to our class, and bam! TWO MOTHAFUCKAS MAKING OUT IN DA CLASSROOM! WHAT DA EFF MY EYES ARE BLEEDING WHAT HAVE I DONE TA DESERVE THIS I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS!!! People, if you are decent human beings, please remember to lock the door out of politeness when you're in the act of intimacy. BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T.

I was in the corridor when I saw these entangled bodies biting off each other's face. 

I’m going to stop the story right here. Before you start to believe those rumours about me being a whore and therefore think I joined them, or if you already believe I’m a whore, I didn’t. And I didn’t record the whole thing, neither did I film it. I’m as straight as your average baseball bat and even so, no, I never had a thing with Robespierre or Saint-Just or Desmoulins or any other person you thought I did. 

Hey guys it’s surprising how you always manage to type non-sense right next to my lines, so why not now? There’s a fresh paragraph right above, go ahead. You feeling shy?

They never add things up there, weird enough. Let me screenshot this, this is the first time in all my life here at Pensionnat des Saints-Noms-de-Jésus-et-de-Marie where my Google duck, uh no, Docs, isn’t bugging because of them.

Anyways, I was in the corridor when I saw these entangled bodies biting off each other's face. And I thought I was THE dirtiest girl of the entire sec 4. If you want some proof you could ask... no I think whoever is reading this shall know.

Back to these two people making out. I’m not putting their names here since I didn’t see their faces. As the dirtiest girl of sec 4, I froze right on spot -shame on me- and dropped my iPad on the ground. It hit the stones and the sound echoed through the halls. I was sure as hell these mothereffers would hear me and I was sure as hell I was a dead beach. I bent down to pick up my iPad and check on it which hopefully, thanks Ham and bless him, didn’t break at all, missing thus the face of the person rushing out of class and pushing me on his way of escaping the crime scene. I’m still glad he didn’t kill the number one witness, or else I couldn’t live to tell the story of my life. I fell hard on the floor, cursing that bastard, greeting all his family members and rubbing my aching ass. He was a complete asshole ok one does not simply make a girl's butt flat (insert Faramir's face meme from LOTR), she could be unwanted because of that! Shame on him! (And shame on me for letting him get away so easily!)

Then 2 feet in black leather shoes appeared in my vision. Shoes with golden buckles like those of 18th century, I’m telling ya. The heels clicked on the stones, announcing my death sentence. Then a hand, a clean one without nail polish nor girly drawings and jewelry, blocked my view of these old-fashioned shoes. So, death by face-slapping, huh? My brain finally went functional again and it was going as fast as the light, sorting out all the possibilities. Wait, that is clearly a boy's hand, boys don’t slap people, OH MY HAMY IS HE GOING TO PUNCH ME?! (Stop giggling now the surveillant is eyeing U, Mona)

Turned out he wasn’t. He asked politely if I needed help, but I heard in his voice a hint of nervousness indicating that he wasn’t sure about physical contact at all. As if I didn’t hear him, he crouched down, hand still extended as an invitation, and asked again. DAMN I NEVER NOTICED THAT HE HAD A NICE VOICE! (Cathy, good Cathy, I luv ur voice the most, don’t give me that look) Now I was the one who started to feel uncomfortable. Not that I believe holding hands would impregnate girls, I’m nothing like that shy little Choisy. But I was sure as hell that I’m never going to touch a stranger I just saw making out in an unlocked room. Brushing off the dust on my skirt, and holding it so he wouldn’t see anything inappropriate - poor lad, imagine him, a virgin (hey, why on Earth would he be nervous asking to hold hands if he wasn’t a virgin?) seeing a girl's absolute area - I stood up and thanked him for his kindness. And damn. It was MAXIMILIEN EFFING ROBESPIERRE. The absolute last person I would expect to be this shameless. DAAAAAMN THAT FRENCH. 

I never thought for my entire life until then that I would see him this way, shirt all messy and unbuttoned, cheeks still rosy and eyes watery from the arousal. DAMN IT HE WAS PANTING. I LITERALLY FELT HIS BREATH ON MY FACE OK?! HE NEVER LOOKED GAYER IN THE ENTIRE YEAR THAT I HAVE KNOWN HIM OK?!

I’m going to go straight to the point and talk boldly. Be aware, sensitive souls. This is a solid proof for those who talk shit behind people's back: GUYS, MAXIMILIEN ROBESPIERRE IS GAY AND WILL ALWAYS BE GAY. THERE'S NOTHING BETWEEN US so have the decency to leave my friends and I alone. (Yes, this is necessary, Mona, we don’t have to live this, I’m going to end it once and for all. Thx 4 ur support Cathy send u luv)

He nodded his head, asked if I need to go to the infirmary and offered his assistance. Dude, we girls may be pretty but we ain’t dolls, we ain’t fragile or made of water (some believes claim women to be made of water, guys, I’m saying this for ur general culture). I declined his offer, of course. Imagine the girls coming back from the party and found their favorite lover boy with me! They'd kill me, I’m telling ya.

So off with the old-fashioned French gentleman. This is my first confrontation with Robespierre and I'm far from satisfied with myself. I didn’t get any further than I originally was. He was still wearing his mask, I can tell, even after some intense making out and getting caught during the act of intimacy. That sly fox. I shall get him one day, I thought. And I did, but at what cost?


	3. Not a chapter, just a skippable thing full of puns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing related to the plot and nothing serious as usual. Just Jones spitting out her thoughts on Max. Denying everything true about her as always.

I could never see Robespierre the same way I saw him before that day, at least that’s what I thought back then. I have been avoiding him even more than I already did, not out of distrust, but simply because of the extreme awkwardness. In a school like ours, you greet every single person politely in the corridor if you know them, not as if you're friends, but only if you have known them somewhere and sometime long ago - it doesn’t matter. Courtesy and friendliness (again, fake or true, is doesn’t matter) is THE key to success, not that it would help you increase in popularity, but as a guaranty that nobody can hate you officially and treat you like shit without hell of a good reason (like betrayal). In a school like ours, success means that you live pretty well on your own without dying or being mistreated at all. I’m just kidding, the REAL success has always been having 100% everywhere and 100 friends and boyfriends loyal to you (no guys I didn’t make a mistake, it’s "boyfriends" but dear human reading this, please add "girlfriends" if it’s the case). But there were and still are people who just don’t give a damn to all these implied rules. Like me. I mean, there are tons of KYs out there and I’m just one of thousands (no, I’m not AKY, don’t even think about it, I’m just lacking good social skills, not like I chose to intentionally ignore the atmosphere). Not that I had the opportunities to flee him, I don’t do runaways ok I go straight up and confront people, since he was popular as eff and was always seen with at least one or two girls with him everywhere. Of course, Desmoulins was always there too, like a cock-block. (Hey Cathy u c what I did there? Girls and best friend there as cock-blocks for Max? No?... Cathy?... oh)


	4. Irritated boys nowadays are boundless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest thing I've ever written in English hahahahahahahaha what is happening just omg I’ll never be able to actually finish this aren’t I.
> 
> Implied hate sex alert

Teachers always think that their subject is THE most important thing on Earth. And that we have no life. Or else we would be all happy and healthy and not some depressive, anxious, easily irritated zombies with dark circles around our eyes as if we were pandas. When China doesn’t gift your country pandas for each zoo, the government invents ways to make it up for the people.

I just LOOOOVE our ministry of education. It’s truly a blessing. No offense to people who work for it though, you guys are doing an excellent, wonderful, amazing, brilliant job, keep it like this! Please rest assured, we won’t die, not yet.

I'm just joking. The infamous "oh-my-Hamy-save-me-the-school-is-bombing-us-with-its-evil-projects-again" period has gone away long, long ago. (Guys, one week is long, ok?) We’re one week from the finals and we’re just chilling out in class (we as in Emy and I; Cathy and Mona are good students), you know, the teacher's gone (we got a strict surveillant instead. Cheers?) and there’s no work to do so you either study like a crazy person (I’m staring at u, Cathy) or you waste your time relaxing and not giving anything a damn (I'm watching Netflix with u, Emy, right here, right now) since you're already worn out like a con... after some intense sport. Stop throwing complicated projects in our face right before the exams, dear teachers, we'll drowning in an endless ocean of essays, how do you expect us to study in advance this way? I would fail my sec 5, seriously, I now fear the sun like a vampire because of staying up all night and studying, fear ÉPS even more than when we had hockey matches (hockey inspires fear ok I broke my nose twice in hockey, cuz evidently, u raise ur stick up high in the air to murder people instead of hitting the puck which is literally flying across the gym) because of my zombified body and fear the stairs even more than I ever did (For Hamy's sake we climb five floors up n down then up n down everyday my limbs are shaking).

Speaking of projects, our first ones in sec four - actually, they were three - were given on the third week since school started. Science, ÉCR and French. All team work. Damn. And the science teacher assigned the teams (Since I don’t know your strengths and weaknesses very well, I shall pair you up using the alphabetical list of the students. Now stop whining, girls! ... and boys!). DAMN. I was praying silently to Hamy - talk about being desperate as eff - PLEASE HAMY HAMILTON OUR DEAREST FOUNDING FATHER DON'T PUT ME WITH THE NEW BOYS PLEASE when I heard "Desmoulins with Desrosiers-Jones". I tried to stay calm and polite so Desmoulins wouldn’t feel like he wasn’t welcomed, but in the inside, I exploded like Monica from Friends when she found a spaghetti sauce stain on her precious couch. DAAAAAMN I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED THIS! Looking back from now, I realize how stupid I was, I mean, just look at our names, he’s either with Desjardins or with me. I'm so used to Jones that Desrosiers sounds like a stranger to me.

My teammate was Desmoulins, and I'm telling ya, that dude is a treasure ok, although the first time I talked to him was awkward as eff because the conversation was all about him stuttering and me saying “I didn’t get it very well sorry the wind is really loud just so annoying isn’t it anyways excuse me can you please repeat it again por favor it's gonna be the last time I’m asking this I promise you” for the 1789th last time. (Yeah Emy's right, congrats Mona! U actually made me spell my numbers! What? I’m wrong? 1789 isn’t spelled out? No, I don’t see any numbers, sorry, u must had mistaken words for 1789, maybe u should go to the doctor's - OUCH CATHY THAT HURTS!) Every time I rethink about it, I'm just touched by how he may not had the cleanest mouth on Earth, but his heart sure is as pure as an eight year old (Don’t talk to me about Esther from Orphan, I don’t know her). But if you get to know him more, you'd be surprised by how dirty his jokes are - good ones are super rare these days. For example, do you know the similarity between a pregnant woman and an underground rotten carrrrrr

(a+b)(a-b)=a square-b square. (a+b)square=a square+2ab+b square. (a-b)square=a square OK THE SURVEILLANT WENT AWAY THAT WAS CLOSE! Now he’s checking out... WHAAAAAT, hey Emy, how did you switch from Netflix to Merriam Webster that fast? Since when did you manage to... oh yeah I get it, you guys aren’t official yet, damn it Mona, do it already, when you like someone you court that person openly or else the redhead from English class sitting right next to Emy and always eyeing her will do it before you. She’s cute and competitive as eff, I’m telling ya. You should have seen her in any form of match. Killed the other girls and sent them home crying about their ex.

And if you are smiling right now because of some inappropriate Hamy-knows-what image you have in your mind, please do us the pleasure to laugh out loud, then come back to Earth all serious. There’s nothing wrong with rotten carrots. And neither with pregnancies since they lead to babies who are just doing the wonderful job of maintaining the presence of the human race on Earth. (Ur also smiling like the Mad Hatter himself, Mona)

Back to my teammate. So, Something Something Camille Benoît Desmoulins is born on March 2nd 2000 in France to his parents, Mister Desmoulins and Mrs. Godart, he went to elementary school in France, came to Quebec at sec 2, studied for 2 years in Notre-Dame, passed the rest of his secondary school life here. But all these things we all know aren’t what I’m going to talk here. Camille was known to be THE lovely sunshine boy of the school. And behold, people, because I’m about to prove, this, WRONG. (fangirls and fanboys, plz give me the time to explain myself before u track me down and kill me) 

This is actually starting to sound like an INSOLITE section from any Montreal journal (or basically any journal from around the world) where writers just come up with ridiculous stuffs they excessively exaggerated to shock the public and keep them awake after reading the news since in Quebec, we talk about the weather and everything that comes with it like a kind of huge package ALL THE TIME. (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA sorry I just can’t help myself I can’t burst out laughing in front of the surveillant let me let it out here or else I’ll have a cramp from holding back all the laughter oh Hamy it’s killing me hahahahahahahahahahahahaha ok I’m done. Uh hum. Keep your face straight, Jones, straight.) That is, when we have nothing bad anymore to say about the politicians. Which is rare, by the way, since we have Mister (ima censure it for sensitive souls so please insert whoever you want, people) from (PEACE AND LOVE, people, PEACE AND LOVE).

I can’t believe I’m actually politically correct, I mean, it’s Alfred F. Jones, he’s not ok in so many ways! Just...hahahahahahahaha bravo lad you got me. Once. You see me clapping?

Oh yes, right, Camille Desmoulins. Sunshine, cute, outgoing, innocent as in not mean and manipulative but not as in not dirty cuz man that mouth even I blush, full of energy and youth. To sum it up, your good old boy next door. ANG-ANG (ok Mona that’s a huge, blood red X from any reality show that buzzes everything time someone does something wrong or loses. Your average "you're-so-dead-dude-sorry-not-sorry" buzz). 

As you remember, I was with him for the "scientific innovation using genome" project in sciences. We had 3 classes so 3 hours to find our topic (which we had absolutely no clue about), validate it with the teacher, do the research and write around 1000 words. Oh, and the teacher said "Girls, this is a class assignment, you're normally supposed to finish this in class and not have any homework. Oh, excuse me! Same thing also applies to you boys.” (Ha she forgot that we opened up for boys! Did you see Camille's hilarious face and Robespierre's smile falling apart?) This, is sec 4, people. Com' on, lemme see your smiles. 

We obviously didn’t finish it at school, so we agreed to meet up here in Google Docs at night. He wasn’t there that night. And the following day neither, which left us only Sunday to complete everything. People, if you are decent human beings, you keep up to your promises and you never, ever eat your words or else you'd get fat because THERE'S PLENTY OF THEM. I freaked out like Monica because ONE DOESN'T SIMPLY FAIL HIS/HER FIRST PROJECT WITH A NEW TEACHER OK YOU MAKE GOOD FIRST IMPRESSIONS EVEN IF LATER ON YOU JUST DON'T GIVE AN EFF ANYMORE and texted him, sent him emails and such, to which he never responded. Damn. 

Then he FaceTimed me at Sunday morning at 9. Oie de phoque (for those who don’t speak French, make Google read this 4 u). When normal, average teens aren’t going to the church, they sleep in on Sundays, right?! Seriously, raise your hands if you're out of bed and decent enough to answer the door at 9 on Sundays. (I’m just eyeing Cathy and Robespierre for no reason at all lol) I ain’t seeing any hands.

Ima skip Desmoulins's physical descriptions and leave everything to your imagination (but keep it above the waist, people, this is teen and up, not explicit). The point is, he wasn’t alone. A million of questions ran through my head; did he got drunk yesterday and ended up calling me for the project this morning while his friends are there to make sure he's not vomiting on the screen? Did he go to a pub or a club? Was he still a... Nah this is going too far, teen and up, Jones. Anyways, he was with a pretty person, a brunet(te?) with long, smooth hair and a refined, feminine face and a man. I'm saying a man and not a boy like I did for males our age cuz he’s got everything, the muscles, the belly, the beard, the low voice, the Adam's apple, the dirty smile, the size, everything. They were red with anger and there had obviously been an intense sport since they were both panting and holding their fists so tightly that the latter were white and we could see the greenish veins popping out. Then they both turned their heads in opposite ways with a huff when Camille coughed out loud as if he had breathed the Pacific Ocean itself in his lungs. We could literally walk to China.

Desmoulins smiled in apology and told me to ignore his immature friends. Dude, they were about to pounce on each other seconds ago and if you ignore just them like this ima have to change the rating to explicit. Then they both turned their gazes to me, the muscle dude clearly annoyed as hell and the other was all "I’m not happy deal with it beach" when his/her angry eyes widened in surprise then calmed down. Like a dead silent lake which you throw rocks into then watch them disappear, leaving no traces of their existence behind. NADA. I was actually surprised to find such mastered emotion management in a teen our age since people's eyes never lie and neither do our young, bold, inexperienced faces. She/he was giving me the same vibe as Robespierre did, which greatly alarmed me. ‘There IS a huge problem with Robespierre and his friends, I'm not paranoid’, I thought, eyes not leaving hers/his.

Her/his thin, sharp lips folded into a mocking smile, ironically illuminating her/his angelic face, and spoke with a deep, velvety voice:

"You seem rather... smitten with someone, Antonia Desrosiers-Jones. It is surely considered flattering for a male, although it would be a greater pleasure if you would kindly refrain from such... misplaced act."

Damn it. It even sounds worse in French with HIS heavy French accent. Apparently, formality of language don’t mean you're bounded by the implied rules of the courtesy. I wanna bite HIS brown-haired watermelon off so bad. Then it hit me like a train and crushed me into human purée right on the rails. I recognized that voice, I heard it somewhere recently, IT WAS ONE OF THESE 2 MOTHA... MAKING OUT IN OUR CLASSROOM! Oh Hamy he wasn’t secretive at all! DAAAAAMN IT!

I was sure as hell HE recognized me from the very beginning and I was also sure as hell he's not letting me pass that easily. I'm not a submissive person by nature, I’ve never been one, so I sorted out all the sharp replies possible and prepared my finest, most innocent smile :

"Oh milady, please excuse my boldness, I didn’t mean it and it truly can’t be helped; you are an absolute delight to admire, your beauty shines greater than a thousand splendid suns and your silhouette, oh! Even Venus herself would be troubled by such magnificence and feminity capable of rivalling her own! Forgive me for being impulsive, my lady, for no homo sapien can help but to speak one's heart in front of your grace and I am but a mere humain! Oh, shame to those pursuing perfection! Oh, shame to this world of vulgar men! For no one can resist your charm, milady. You have my most sincere apologies."

NAILED IT! Come and get it you traditional, old-fashioned, head-stuck-in-the-past snob!

Thank you Billy dear Billy I never knew I would use what I learnt from you one day!

It was a great entertainment to see his mocking expression shatter into pieces. He may be a swift talker, but normally, males dislike it when their masculinity is being challenged. And he was no exception. I mean, just look at him, his eyes was throwing daggers at me!

Again, Camille Desmoulins broke the deadly silence with his inhuman, extravagant yet hilarious laughs, joined later on by the muscle guy's deep, vibrant voice. There goes the remnant of Desmoulin's “shy lil puppy” reputation. I had to take off my earphones or else my ears would start bleeding from the unpleasantly loud noises. Lasses laughing may be music to your ears, but definitely not lads, or at least not Camille and his friends.

The muscle guy chased away his bad humour and presented himself as "George Danton. Nice to meet you! You did hell of a nice job kicking his ass!" and declared us as "long lost friends". He just gets me, that dude. When I finally calmed down and was finalizing the essay, I heard a faint voice spitting out "Louis-Antoine de Saint-Just, pleasure, mister Desrosiers-Jones” syllable by syllable. 

DAAAAAMN! THE PRINCE OF NOTRE-DAME?! THAT SAINT-JUST?! THAT GUY WHO WON THE BOY'S BEAUTY CONTEST 5 YEARS IN A ROW?! THAT LAD GIRLS VOTED AS MOST TALENTED AND MOST CHARMING DUDE IN MONTREAL?! THE DREAM BOYFRIEND OF EVERYONE?! What the hell just happened?!

I just signed my own death sentence, damn it.


	5. Shirts nowadays are useless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only posting half of the chapter because of, well, school.

I know what you're thinking and no this ain’t no R-18, you dirty.

It’s funny to see how people change so much over time that even their "hey dude wassup long time no see how you doing?" (insert the Joey accent from F•R•I•E•N•D•S) bestie couldn’t recognize them. Because let’s be real, you and your besties stick together almost 24/7 like some Krazy Glue victims that cannot survive 5 minutes without each other. And when you see them after days without contacting them, it feels like centuries have passed away during this time. 

Our dear Lucile started shopping for Halloween really early that year. And when I say early I mean when September barely started. (Coming from a person who diy random lame stuff the night before Halloween cuz there’s nothing left in the stores, that is.) And now look at her, she didn’t even bother to pick at least ONE costume this year. For those of you who have plenty of question marks dancing and twirling above your head, she usually has 5 plan A's, 8 plan B's and dozens of plan C's. Not to mention that her online shopping cart has always been full. Always.

We were dragged to dozens of Halloween costume stores that day. I honestly didn’t even know there were that many in Montreal. Note to all those who have that one friend (or multiple friends; bless u poor lad/lass in both cases) obsessed with shopping : wear some comfortable sneakers when you go out with that person and prepare yourself for a 6h continuous torture, or else you'd be looking like an extra in Zombie Apocalypse at the end of the day while your friend is still (unfortunately or fortunately?) buzzing with energy and very upset that she/he couldn’t do this all day (as in 10h and +).

And we were lucky we ran into our bestie's futur soulmate (Who else doesn’t buy that ish till the Camille x Lucille ship? Thx dude, oh u're veeeeeeery welcome Mona) because or else we'd be dead a long, long time ago. (Again, fellas, 1 year's freakin' long! 1 whole year! That’s enough for 2 Homo sapiens to reproduce!)

So it was a cloudy day and it looked like it was about to rain at any minute. But that, according to our dear, dear friend, was “better than having a shiny ass sun melting us into human juice”, which is sadly very true in Montreal where the average temperature in a sunny summer afternoon is around 35°C. Bless. (Oh no she doesn’t lack a filter, I do, I’m the Queen of sans filtre on Instagram in both ways)

As any teen girl, we went first to Sainte-Catherine just because. No shopping is complete without a tour of this Montreal's n°1 cloudiest street. That’s how we roll. But let’s skip this hellhole (the boring part about being sandwiched and crushed and bumped into 1789% of the time) and go to the other hellhole, the one that involves something spicy in a hot day like this. After re-exploring downtown for the n+1 time, we took the metro up to Plateau Mont-Royal for, well, some quality ice cream. (Wink to all Montrealers, y'all know what I’m talking about ;)

That’s where we bumped into the inferno MAC trio (if you got this reference, please comment below because we can be frieeeeeeends~). In shorts. Not booty shorts but still. 

Before you yell out “OMG YOU SAW THE EFFING PRINCE OF NOTRE-DAME OMG I BET HIS CALVES LOOK EVEN HOTTER IN REAL LIFE” in a hardcore fangirl (or fanboy, I don’t know) fashion, I just want to say that I’m a normal, sane person who doesn’t focus on someone's calves. I mean, come one folks, have you checked out those abs??? I literally saw them through his T-... Sorry Cathy it’s the last time, I promise! 

Don’t frown, I can see you frowning across the screen, yes you, for your general knowledge, people actually do this. The calve thing, I mean. Not the... that... above... never mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooo folk(s), ya never saw this coming, do you?


End file.
